


Try a Little Tenderness

by CFonticola



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien/Human Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically PWP, F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CFonticola/pseuds/CFonticola
Summary: Kolivan and Krolia crash land together on Earth. While life-affirming, they get a visitor.





	Try a Little Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> Got challenged to this threesome on FFA and even told I can give Texas Kogane a K name. Thanks, FFA, you're a star.

It’s on the tenth light and dark cycle after their crash on this distant, backwater, safe planet that neither Kolivan nor Krolia can take it anymore. They need to touch each other, to feel that they’re alive.

Krolia initiates, as she usually does. Kolivan’s mind is always half on the mission, the long term – has to be, for the leader of the Blades who always stands to embody a better, purer version of Galra strength. She swings herself above him in his cot, legs to either side of his body, and watches him for a while, sleeping. Still sleeping off the last of the injuries from the crash. Here he can do that. They’re very far away from everything, and like it or not, outside the reach of duty.

Krolia has never been away from war like this. It occurs to her that she doesn’t know if Kolivan has. They’ve come to each other in the midst of war. When they love each other it’s with the fires of war, in defiance of oppression and death. She doesn’t know how this is going to be.

As soon as she touches her hand to the fringe of Kolivan’s ear, his eyes open. His first action is a growl. Always. She instantly understands that the same energy moves him that does her.

_Alive. Safe._ What is safe? Steal the moment, it’s all they know.

She loops his unbraided hair about her hand and pulls his face up to hers. He sinks his fangs into her lower lip and sucks. Another growl, rumbling all through his body, vibrating into her ribcage and further down; no words.

She lowers herself until she straddles his midsection, firm as rock. Both of them are wearing only the light inner layers of their flightsuits, and Krolia slides her hand through a tear along Kolivan’s chest, feels his fur silky against hers, and the new scar. She tweaks the new, naked skin and gets a hiss of pain and relish. _Alive. And safe. But what is safe?_ She has new scars of her own, light blue patches along her arm where fire had eaten away her fur, and she trembles all over when Kolivan nuzzles into them. She feels like the suddenly urgent buck of his hips, the count of his old scars as she rubs her way up and down his ribs, remind her. Ten thousand years of war and that is all there is…

She’s just gotten the top of his flightsuit off, started to pull it further down to release his straining need – him growling bone-deep vibrations into her all the while – when the door opens. They both start, stunned not to have heard approaching footsteps, horrified to be unable to extricate themselves and get their weapons in less than a heartbeat.

It’s the human. Killian. The one they owe it all to, being alive. He’s wearing nothing but his nightwear, a pair of flimsy shorts. His eyes are huge and dark and his mouth opens in a round _oh_. 

Only Killian. And Krolia realizes she’s so relieved at that – that they are still _safe_ – that she forgets to feel embarrassed or invaded upon. 

“Uh.” There’s an odd change of colour to Killian’s skin that Krolia can see even in the late-night murk. A trace of alien, oddly enticing pink. He puts his hands up, palms out. “I’ll just. Go. Yeah. Y’all carry on.” His shorts are very flimsy indeed.

Under her body, Krolia feels Kolivan’s hot wartime tension melt with the same relief as hers. _Safe_. Under her hand, tangled low in his flightsuit, she feels something else.

She steals the moment. “You can stay, Killian.”

She lets his open astonishment play itself out and turns to Kolivan’s under her. Their exchange plays out in silent looks, well trained over years of fighting together. The truth is she has little to offer any of it: his plain confusion, his disapproval at her unplanned spontaneity, his however light resentment that she’s read his own desires so well and, stars, has acted on them, as though his desires – and hers – have such freedom. And Krolia has nothing but desire. But, she realizes even as it flows between them, there is so much more to that desire than the heat in her belly. She looks at Kolivan and tells him, soundless: _let him in. It’s safe. I want to let someone in._

Killian swallows. The sound breaks the moment. They both stare at him mouth some Earth obscenity. “Can I – really?”

Krolia doesn’t know by what blessing, what effect of Earth’s strange sky and crystal air, but Kolivan says: “Stay, Killian. With us.”

He opens his claws to a held-out palm, offering it to the human. Killian’s steps are velveted with awe, but his breath stumbles with sound, like a being who has never had to steal his bright or tender moments. He crouches by the cot. Kolivan sinks his claws into the human’s short hair, cupping the back of Killian’s head with his large hand. Krolia uses the moment to slide out of the top of her own flightsuit. She slips from straddling Kolivan to lying stretched out besides him. Open, sinuous invitation. 

They let Killian explore. Lean his head back into Kolivan’s grip. Pry the last inch off the flightsuit off Kolivan’s crotch and make a stunned, heady noise when the Galra’s cock springs free, long, crimson, flicking eagerly. Lean over and tenderly brush, then run his mouth adoringly along Krolia’s ears and markings until the fur stands on shivering end. All slow, all deeply mindful, cautious and soft. Killian has no claws, and his body, though Krolia can feel its strength, is padded and soft in a way no Galra she has ever touched had been. Could have been. In between closing her eyes and riding her own pleasure, she can feel Kolivan fall into the kindness of that touch – first baffled, then restrained, then undone. 

Her head falls back, resting on Kolivan’s chest, as Killian finds his rhythm with a hand on one of her breasts. Kolivan is back to rumbling, deep as space, squirming against her. She drifts in the sensation before she realizes it. Marvelling softness, hard solidity. The increasing daring of Killian’s touch and the familiar eager strength of Kolivan’s, and the latter falling to abandon as the former grows bolder. Her own strokes of their bodies comes so naturally, even as Kolivan moves under her touch in ways she has never felt before, even as she touches and tastes and fills her senses with Killian’s alienness. She rides the feeling, hers, the thrumming energies of theirs. She stops noticing her own drifting. She stops questioning. She breathes it, becomes it, lets it be.

For a last coherent thought, before the tide of _alive_ comes over her, she thinks: _this is what safe is._


End file.
